


Musical Rooms

by KelticBanshee



Series: Seduction Moves 'verse [9]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:05:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelticBanshee/pseuds/KelticBanshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack is back, and everybody is struggling to deal with it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musical Rooms

**03:45 - Gwen**

Gwen steals a glance at the phone on the night stand once again. It’s the first night in ages she’s not running around Cardiff, chasing Weevils or trying to find the source of some alien signal or struggling to find an explanation for some strange happening or another. Well, she is, in a manner of speaking. The earlier version of herself — that’s what Jack had called it when he tried to explain this time travelling lark — _is_ out there chasing after John Hart. She is sitting on a king size bed in one of the poshest suites in St David’s Hotel. 

She catches herself yawning again. The pillows, all fluffed and soft, look ever more inviting every time she notices them. Yet she is stubbornly refusing to slip out of her clothes and get a well deserved night of sleep.

She could be at home, with Rhys, cuddling in bed and for once sure that her phone was not going to ring in the middle of the night and she wouldn’t be dragged into yet another day that would start way too early. But she’s here. Jack insisted. Timelines, and chances of meeting themselves, and weakening of the fabric of Time and Space, and Very Bad Things that could happen. 

It all gives her a headache. Or maybe it’s just the lack of sleep.  

She grabs the phone, fingers tapping familiar patterns until all she has to do is press one key to call Rhys. But it’s late, and he’s more than likely already asleep. He used to wait for her, every night, bless him. She would come home in the middle of the night, carefully open the door, walk around the flat with her shoes in her hand, trying not to wake him… and find him on the sofa, the remote still clutched tightly in his hand, some stupid telemarketing program or another on the telly. He would wake up and blink blankly at her when she tried to put a blanket over him, and they would both drag themselves to bed and fall asleep almost without a word.

After a few months and a couple of bad weeks when his back complained about the sofa not being as comfortable as it looked, he eventually gave up hoping she would be home at a sensible time, and go to bed without her. Not that she can blame him for it. She can’t even remember the last night she spent at home. With a sigh, she flips the phone closed and puts it back on the nightstand. 

Maybe she could go home anyway. Sneak out of the hotel, get a taxi back home and sleep in her own bed. Jack probably wouldn’t find out, and even if he did, as long as she stayed away from her other self, Time and Space should survive. And it’s not like that would be complicated, given that she spent a great portion of the night in a shipping container poisoned by Vera. She falls back on the bed, her crossed legs complaining at the awkward position. 

Truth is, she could have gone home hours ago, but she’s still here. After all, she’s never been very good at doing anything just because Jack said so. Stupid as it sounds, even to herself, she had hoped Jack would knock on her door, answer her questions, ask about what happened while he was gone. Maybe even… She catches herself snorting. Well, as her mum always said, if you want something done… She lets out a sigh as she slips back into her shoes, stands up and picks the key card from the nightstand. 

The corridor is empty, as one would expect at this time of the night. As quiet as she can, she walks to Jack’s room and brings a hand up to knock, but pauses mid-air. Maybe Jack is asleep. He said he doesn’t sleep much, but that does not mean he doesn’t sleep at all, and he looked like a man who could do with several months of sleep when he showed up earlier. Maybe Jack’s got company. She shakes her head — she’d rather not think of that. Maybe… 

Before she knows it, she’s rapping her knuckles against the door, hopefully not loud enough to wake everybody else up. Ianto is in the room next door, and Tosh and Owen across the corridor. The last thing she wants is for any of them to pop their heads out of the rooms and find her here. Owen’s had more than enough fun having a go at her for her “constant mooning over their missing leader”, as he put it, and doesn’t need more ammunition to use against her. 

No movement comes from inside the room. She knocks again, harder, but still nothing. She catches herself tapping her feet impatiently on the floor before knocking a third time. Looks like Jack might have been the first one to not follow his own orders not to leave their rooms. With a sigh, she turns to leave, but stops before she’s taken a step. Maybe… 

She crosses the corridor and knocks on Owen’s door. At least she hopes she got the room numbers straight in her head and it _is_ Owen’s room. Again, nothing. No sound, no stirring, nothing. It’s starting to get a bit creepy in a way that only hotels in the middle of the night are, when nobody is around and it feels like, no matter how rational one tries to be about it, a psychopathic axe murderer could pop out of any door without warning. She knocks again, not as convinced this time.  

Shaking her head, she walks back to her room, patting her pockets for her phone before remembering she left it in the room. As she unlocks the door, she wonders once again whether to go home, or at the very least call Rhys. Life at Torchwood feels very lonely tonight. 

**3.33 - Owen**

Well, at least he can’t fault Harkness’s taste when it comes to hotels. This must be the most expensive place in all of Cardiff, and they somehow managed to secure five of the most expensive rooms at _very_ short notice. Thanks to Torchwood’s deep pockets, no doubt. And probably to the fact that no woman on the planet can resist Jack Harkness when he cranks up the charming smile. He’d roll his eyes, but there isn’t much point in that when there’s nobody around to comment on it. 

With a sigh, he turns on the bed again, and winces at the pain. If he were a sensible person, he would have taken his clothes off and would be _in_ bed, sleeping the peaceful sleep of those that have already saved the world today, rather than _on_ the bed, tossing and turning and wanting to be anywhere but here. He swallows and tries not to think too much about exactly why he’s still awake, about the many little things that are getting under his skin today. 

Trust Captain bloody Harkness to swan back in with trouble in his wake. Trust Captain bloody Harkness to almost get Gwen killed _again_. Trust Captain bloody Harkness to… He shakes his head. Well. In all fairness, this time _maybe_ it wasn’t all Jack’s fault, even though that bastard Hart probably would have stayed away from them all if Jack hadn’t been around. He stifles a yawn and shuffles again, this time more carefully. The last thing he needs is for Ianto - and who would have thought Teaboy would be useful as a nurse — to have a go at him for pulling his stitches. He’s got better things to get snarky at Ianto for than that. 

He’s tired of this shit. He’s tired of never knowing whether he’ll die today or he’ll be home in time for dinner, whether they’ll manage to save the world once again or it’ll all go to hell and everything will end up being pointless and useless. Or rather, more pointless and useless than usual, given how they always seem to sort things by sheer luck and dumb stumbling upon the right thing to do. He’s tired of being angry with the world. 

He’s tired of being angry with himself for not saving _her_ , for being alive when she died. But that is something he’d rather not think about. 

He’s tired of being alone. But that is something he’d rather not admit to. Not even to himself 

With a sigh, he struggles to sit up on the edge of the bed and reaches for the painkillers on the bedside table. Tosh, thoughtful as usual, picked them up when they popped to the Hub after he got shot, just in case. He shakes his head as he takes one with a swig of water. How that woman manages to remember little things like that when they are in the middle of a crisis is beyond him. It probably has something to do with how Tosh is capable of forgetting she needs to eat when she working on a piece of alien tech until Ianto brings her food and tea, but she brings her his share of the takeaway when he doesn’t show up in the Boardroom for Torchwood’s finest dining. 

It hurts when he stands up, but he still manages to take a few clumsy steps. Now that the adrenaline is gone it’s a lot harder to move without flinching, but he still makes it to the door, and into the corridor, and over to the next room in what is probably a less dignified stroll than he’d like. He swallows, and find himself wondering what on earth he’s doing here, why he thought this would be a good idea to begin with. Tosh is probably asleep by now, she’s always been the sensible one in the team. Well, almost always. She’s not going to be pleased if he wakes her up. 

Still, he knocks quietly on the door. Hopefully loud enough for her to hear if she’s awake, but not enough to disturb her is she’s asleep. He’s about to turn away and pad back to his room when the door opens just a few inches and Tosh’s face peeks from behind it, hidden in shadows cast by the small lamp on the night stand behind her. 

“Owen!” She sounds surprised, as if he were the last person she expected to see on her doorstep tonight. And, well, he probably is. She looks bewildered as well, come to think about it. “Is there… is there anything you need?” She’s still dressed, but barefoot, feet barely showing under the hem of the trousers.

He fumbles for words and silently curses the way Tosh often seems to have that effect on him. 

“Just wanted to thank you.” She raises an eyebrow, as if wondering who the heck he is and where the real Owen Harper might be now. “For the painkillers.” She nods quietly, as if filing away any strange behaviour as being down to the drugs. “I never thought of grabbing them.” 

“You were too busy looking after Gwen.” She smiles, that bright smile of hers, and suddenly he’s leaning against the door, his leg almost gone from under him and why does he always forget how fucking nasty hip injuries can be? Tosh reaches for him and helps him back to his feet, surprisingly strong. It always surprises him, her strength. Maybe he, like the rest of the world, lets her appearance fool him. He swears and ignores her mild glare. “Poison can be tricky and hit back when you don’t expect it, and all those things.” 

He takes a careful step back, a hand still on Tosh’s shoulder. The door is wide open now, and he can see the room behind her. Any answer he could have thought of dies on his lips. Ianto fucking Jones is lying on Tosh’s bed, shoes and tie discarded, hair tousled and looking positively smug. Or maybe he’s imagining that. Teaboy doesn’t usually do smug. 

“Never mind.” Without another word, he turns around and storms over to the lift with all the dignity his injury allows. Behind him, Tosh calls out to him, but he ignores her. What on earth was he thinking when he knocked on her door? He stabs the call button and bites back the need to shout at the bloody thing. When the lift finally arrives he gets on it and stabs the button again. Captain fucking Harkness might have said not to leave their rooms, but Owen Harper needs a drink. And Torchwood can bloody well pick up the bloody bill. 

It’s only when he is almost at the bar that he realises it is probably is closed at this time of the night. Though no doubt the appropriate incentive will still get him a drink or three, if he can find… 

To his surprise, there are still lights on behind the bar, and a tired looking waiter standing behind the counter. He looks around the empty tables and stools, until his eyes come to rest on the only person here. 

Of course. 

“Can’t even let me get pissed in peace?” 

**03.24 - Jack**

He’s getting tired of this. Waiting for the knock on his door, waiting for Ianto to come and _not_ ask the questions that he knows he’ll end up answering anyway, because that is Ianto, always getting him to say more than he wants to. He stops mid-step, realising now that he’s been pacing around the room for the last while. Probably since he closed the door behind him and tossed the coat onto a chair… With a tired sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed. 

A bitter laugh echoes in the room and it takes him a while to recognise it as his own. What was he expecting, after the time he’s been away? A welcome home parade, all smiles and his absence forgotten? He could tell them where he’s been. Saving the world, maybe even the universe this time. Being killed more times than he cares to remember just to entertain a madman. 

He could tell them he saw them die, all of them. First Tosh, in the snows of the Himalayas, in high definition, courtesy of the Master. Then Owen, all rage and revenge when given half the chance to attack the man that got Tosh killed, when the half-frozen team were brought aboard the Valiant. Then Gwen, in tears and still willing to believe the human race would make it, would survive this disaster. Then Ianto, quiet, collected, calm, staring at the Master with disdain and almost _pity_ , and with a silent ‘I am sorry, Jack’ mouthed in his direction.

He could tell them he never lost hope, he never lost faith in the Doctor, he always knew he would come back, but he’s not that good a liar. He could tell Ianto how he wished he could die and stay dead when he saw Ianto’s limp body bleeding on the floor in front of him, the Master laughing maniacally over it, how for a while he couldn’t believe even the Doctor would manage to put this right. He could try to explain how relieved he is to be back, to get a second chance at keeping them alive. 

Ianto would believe him, but there’s already too much weight on those shoulders to add to it, and they are on shaky ground as it is. Gwen would refuse to believe he gave up, and humanity almost gave up as well. Owen would raise an eyebrow and pretend he’d never get himself killed for anybody, despite knowing full well Owen Harper cares more than he lets on. Toshiko would simply start calculating the power necessary to create a paradox of that size, and probably get lost in her equations rather than face the stark violence and ugliness of it all. 

No, telling them wouldn't help...

And, of course, as if his homecoming wasn’t complicated enough as it is, John had to show up, bringing promises and echoes of Christmas past and dragging ghosts back to the present. He falls back on the bed, all soft duvets and plump pillows and emptiness. John threatening his team, and he wasn’t even around to do anything about it. Almost killing Gwen - and that is getting oddly common, Gwen almost getting killed. Shooting Owen - and it is true what they say, doctors make thehandle worst patients. Hurting Toshiko, pulling a gun on Ianto. Killing him, but that doesn’t really count, even though John didn’t know he would survive it. Bringing back Gray and all that comes with the memories, the guilt, the pain… 

Truth be told, he’s not waiting for Ianto’s questions. He’s waiting for _Ianto_. The quiet comfort, the solid presence. The understanding. All the things he’s missed while he was in chains. All the things that kept him sane. 

But something tells him it’ll take more than a clumsy offer of peace and dinner and movies for Ianto to come back. And it’s not like he can blame him. He owes Ianto an apology. For leaving without as much as an explanation or a promise to return or a by your leave. With a sigh, he sits up again. Jack Harkness does not do apologies, hasn’t done for a long time. But this once he might have to. Apologise first and explain afterwards. 

Slowly, he makes his way to the door and into the corridor. He catches himself rubbing at his wrist as he walks towards Ianto’s room. The chains are long gone, but the memory of them will take a lot longer. His heart is racing as he knocks on the door.

Silence. Deafening, unexpected and eerie. 

He knocks again. Still, silence. Maybe Ianto is asleep. Maybe Ianto ignored his orders to stay in their rooms and really isn’t there. Maybe Ianto is ignoring _him_. Somehow the latter feels more likely. Slowly, he makes his way downstairs. It feels like the kind of night for Scotch.  

**03.12 - Tosh**

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, she looks around the room, taking in all the little details, still trying to figure out what exactly in it makes it worth the exorbitant amount of money Jack - or rather, Torchwood - paid for it. The bed is comfortable, the pillows look inviting, the bathrobes are soft and fluffy and she’s pretty sure the bath would qualify as a children’s swimming pool. It’s clean, and tidy, and full of little comforts, but it still feels slightly disappointing. As if she had been expecting more. 

A thought strikes her almost as violently as if she had been slapped. Somehow, it has been a day of disappointments. Somehow, she was expecting Jack’s return to be… different. More emotional, more apologetic, more flamboyant, more… she’s not even entirely sure what. Not that the mighty Captain Harkness, as Ianto often mockingly calls him, didn’t make an entrance, but it was somehow… disappointing. Maybe eclipsed — at least a little — by that of John Hart, and by everything that followed. 

Part of her is tempted to sneak out of her room and check on Ianto. There is something in the way Ianto has been holding himself together all night, that reminded her of the first days after Jack vanished, when Ianto had more questions and hurt feelings than answers and hopes. It is the same kind of tension, the same silent move of lips when he thinks nobody is watching. As if Ianto didn’t know exactly how to handle this. Something that makes her think Ianto might need a friend tonight, someone to listen to his ramblings and share a drink or a bed with. 

On the other hand, it is entirely possible that Ianto might not be in his room at all. It has, after all, been a while since Jack left, and, knowing Ianto, that has given him enough time to come up with a welcome speech and a perfectly crafted “how to deal with Jack’s return” manual. Which, Jack being Jack, might have been entirely tossed out the window in one swift move. 

On second thoughts, it might be better if she doesn’t go anywhere near Ianto’s room at all. She wouldn’t want to interrupt…

A knock on the door, loud as an explosion in the silence of the small hours of the morning, shakes her out of her thoughts. With a sigh, she moves slowly to the edge of the bed and pads barefoot to the door. This better not be another end of the world scenario. One threat of destruction for the city per night is about as much as she can handle right now. The carpet feels soft and thick on the soles of her feet as she opens the door, not entirely sure who to expect. 

“Ianto!” Ianto gives her a small smile that speaks of tiredness and need of coffee. She catches herself looking up and down the corridor, wondering where the others are. “What’s going on?” He shakes his head and raises his hands in a calming move. 

“May I come in?” She takes a step back from the door to let him in, and makes her way back to the bed. This is definitely unexpected. Behind her, Ianto walks into the room and closes the door. When she sits on the bed again, Ianto is leaning against the door, as if wanting to make sure the world won’t follow him in. He blinks a couple of times and looks around. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” She shakes her head. 

“Couldn’t sleep if I tried. And I’d only have to get up in a few hours to head back to the Hub.” He rolls his eyes at that, and she can hear the ‘when did sleep become optional?’ he doesn’t ask. She pauses for a second, wondering how to ask, whether to ask. It’s never easy to start these conversations. Without a word, Ianto hits the light switch and the room plunges into darkness. She can hear the rustle of shoes being discarded, of a tie sliding over a shirt collar. Then the soft echoes of cautious steps towards her, and the bed dips to her right. “I thought you would be…” She fumbles for words, hoping she won’t need them. 

“With Jack?” Ianto snorts as she brings her feet up to the bed and under her. “I probably should be.” 

“But?” She feels around in the dark and places a hand on Ianto’s shoulder, barely there. Just enough to remind him he is not alone. A strong arm wraps around her and brings her close. She goes with it, silencing the voice at the back of her head that tells her Ianto shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be seeking comfort in her now that Jack is back. 

“Should is never a good reason to do things.” That sounds strange coming from Ianto, who has always displayed a deep sense of duty, but at the same time makes sense. Lips press softly to her forehead. “I thought I would be angry at him, when he came back.” She nods in the darkness, not sure what to say. “I thought I…” A deep sigh and Ianto falls back onto the bed, taking her with him. “I _wanted_ to be angry at him, Tosh. For leaving without a word. For not getting in touch. For… everything. I _wanted_ him to apologise and swear never again and all those stupid things.”

“But?” She places a hand on Ianto’s chest and feels his heart beating faster. There is an alien tension in him, something she can’t quite place. 

“I’m just glad he is back.” A pause, silence hanging heavy in the air. “I just want to…” A sigh. 

“Drag him to your bed and make sure he is here, and alive and kicking, and every bit as much himself as he was before he left?” At that, Ianto laughs quietly. Slender fingers trace the lines of her face, and she shivers in a way that has nothing to do with cold and a lot to do with uncertainty. 

“That, or punch him a couple of times. Or both.” Another pause. “Not sure in what order.” 

“Then why are you here?” Ianto brings her closer, and she goes with it. It is so easy to just go with the flow, forget there is a world out there and take shelter in Ianto’s arms… 

“Because it scares me how easy it is for Jack to swan back in and make me forgive and forget the last few months.” A hand settles on her, fingers entwining with hers. “Because you matter to me.” 

The words hit her square in the chest. The weeks Jack have been away have been… complicated, between her and Ianto. They have both been grieving, albeit different things. They have both been clinging onto each other for a hint of sanity and normality and friendship and warmth. They have both been avoiding the question of what would happen when Jack returned. If Jack returned. 

And now here they are. Having to find an answer. 

“I never meant to…” She fumbles for words. A finger settles on her lips. 

“Don’t you dare apologise.” She can tell there is a smile behind those words. “You’ve kept me sane, Tosh. All these weeks. And, more importantly, you’ve kept me from shooting Owen and throwing a couple of unkind truths Gwen’s way.” She has to laugh at that. “Can I stay here tonight?” 

She swallows, not sure what to say. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather…?” She lets out a sigh. If Ianto wanted to be elsewhere, Ianto would be elsewhere right now. “Of course you can. Anytime you need a friend.” She turns around and moves a bit closer, darkness and tiredness taking over and slowly lulling her to sleep. 

A second knock on the door wakes her up and almost makes her jump out of her skin. With a tired sigh, she turns on a side lamp and pads to the door, almost ready to tell Jack to go save the universe by himself tonight because the team have done their share of all-nighters while he’s been away, but it is not Jack on the other side of the door when she opens it. 

“Owen!” 

**03.02 - Ianto**

His head is spinning, and not in a good way. Trust Jack to come back and shake him to the core without even trying, with an offer of dinner and a movie and the normality that Torchwood never allows for. With a sigh, he forces himself to stop pacing around the room, wondering. Wondering where Jack has been while he was away, whether this doctor that Jack mentioned on his return is the Doctor mentioned in the Torchwood Archives. Wondering what happened to Jack, how many times Jack died, who Jack met, and whether Jack left an imprint in their lives as deep as the one in his own. 

Wondering why Jack came back, rather than stay wherever it is that Jack ran away to. Wondering how much truth there was behind that almost whispered ‘I came back for you’ that made his throat tighten and made him want to entirely ignore the rational voice in his head that insisted that Jack could not swan back into his life so easily, not without an explanation and an apology. 

Wondering why he is fidgeting around the room, unable to even consider sleeping, and wishing his thoughts, his heart, his whole self, would settle down and let him at least rest. Not that he has slept much in the last few months. Being one man down in the team, and given everybody’s reluctance to replace Jack, nights off were a luxury none of them could often afford. He forces himself to sit down on the edge of the bed and take a few deep breaths, trying to slow down the whirlwind in his head. Not that it helps much. 

Part of him is half-expecting Jack to knock on his door with an offer to skip both dinner and movie and go straight to make-up sex. Truth be told, that fact that Jack hasn’t done just that yet is slightly worrying. It is, after all, Jack’s favourite trick to make everybody around him forget that they are angry at him. A smile, a bit of flirtation, an offer on the metaphorical table, some outrageous comments to ensure it won’t be taken seriously, and everybody is suddenly struggling to keep a straight face, all anger forgotten.

Part of him knows Jack will not come into his room uninvited, just as Jack never set foot in his place without an invitation. It is almost shocking how respectful of other people’s boundaries Jack could be at times. It is yet another of the contradictions in Jack, as much part of Jack as the anachronistic clothes and that stubborn insistence to carry a Webley rather than a standard Torchwood issue gun. 

He considers turning the tables on Jack, and being the one to knock on Jack’s door and push Jack against a wall and either fuck or punch the living lights out of him for the time Jack has been away, for coming back and messing with him like this. And that is before he even begins to consider the implications of all the interesting tidbits John Hart - if that is his name — dropped while making them all run around doing his dirty work. Or who this Gray that John mentioned just before disappearing is. The name definitely seemed to hit Jack badly. Just as badly as the realisation of how little he knows about Jack’s past is hitting him. 

He catches himself by the door, one hand already on the doorknob. He stops for a second, possibilities spinning around in his head. He swallows, a decision slowly forming amongst the chaos as he opens the door and steps into the corridor. The silence is eerie, even if it is to be expected at this time of the night. As quietly as possible, he crosses the corridor towards Tosh’s room.

He should let her sleep, goodness knows she deserves a good night of sleep without Rift alarms or spaceships flying over South Wales or chaos or end-of-the-world situations. But she also deserves an answer to the question they never asked while Jack was away, the question neither of them knew the answer to, until now. Jack might be back, and might have — in Jack’s unique way — apologised for disappearing without as much as by your leave. And he might be willing to forgive and forget, given time, and they might once again pick up the pieces of whatever dysfunctional relationship they might have and fall together in bed again. But Tosh will still be Tosh, gentle and caring and understanding and oh so strong, and probably the only person on the planet that could understand this. 

So he knocks on her door, half hoping she’ll be asleep and won’t hear it, half wishing she will open and let him in. Because tonight he definitely could do with her subtle way of reminding him that this madness is part of life as much as anything else. 


End file.
